Every Time (Our Paths Collide)
by TheResurrectionist
Summary: Wincest AU featuring Rich!Sam and Mean!Dean. Everything isn't always as it seems on vacation, but things get crazy as two young men meet in the middle of one of the most cursed vacation spots ever.


Every Time Our Paths Collide

A/N Spawned while on vacation and then promptly forgotten. Sorry if it's another wincest au, I swear I need to get help for this plot bunny.

* * *

He woke to the dull sensation of waves crashing against his back, water so cold he couldn't even feel his hands and feet. A piece of wood was between his arms, grasped like a lifeline.

The sky was dark above him, night swallowing up any light from the shore. If he squinted, he could almost make out the tiny lights of his hotel, but another wave crashed over him then, and the saltwater stung his eyes.

He couldn't move his legs at all; all muscle movement seemed impossible. He wasn't even sure how he'd managed to hold on to the plank at all. He wasn't sure how much longer he could, either

The waves pushed at him, then drew him back only to send him tumbling forward towards the shore. Every time he thought he was closer to the shore, the undertow pulled him back and he shut his eyes against the saltwater.

He knew he probably wouldn't make it back to shore alive. Some deep, primal part of him knew he'd die out here, twisting between cold waves and murky darkness. His only hope was that she wouldn't come back. He'd die by his own hand if he needed to, not hers.

He could still feel her lips against his, cold and salty as she dragged him into the water. He couldn't even scream then, and no one would hear him scream now.

He'd never felt more alone. Even the stars were hidden, covered by thick clouds. Wind whistled above his head, but the numbing water left him nearly senseless.

Currents moved around his ankles, and he prayed it wasn't her. Numb skin flared to life as he shuddered deeply with fear, adrenaline warming him slightly. If something touched him, he'd scream. He knew it.

Something bubbled next to his head, but another wave swept over him then and he lost sight of it for a second. Blinking to clear the salt from his eyes, he watched in terror as something rose up from the water.

The top of a head, dark hair closing wet around a pale, lovely face. A nose appeared, tapering to a fine point. Two large eyes blinked open a second later, focusing instantly on him.

Two pale shoulders rose up from the water, and she paused. A hand reached out, cupping his face. All of his energy drained out of his body then, going even colder as the icy hand caressed his cheek.

"Honey, can't we go home?" She asked, using the sweet voice that didn't belong to her.

"You're.." He chattered out between shuddering lips. "You're not..not..her."

Her lips pursed together in a dark shape. The icy hand kept moving up and down his face as she stared at him for a second.

"What do you mean, honey?" She asked, using her voice again. "Stop these games. I want to go home."

He had no energy left, couldn't even move his feet to kick away. He knew she wouldn't let him go again; her icy hands would be on his flesh in a second if he didn't comply this time.

He could only hope his real girlfriend would mourn him. God knows this one wouldn't.

"F-Fine." He chattered. "Do it." He managed to get out.

A slow smile spread across her face as she grabbed the board from his hands, catching him as his body fell limply into her hands.

"Shhhhhh." She said when he made a noise of pain. "Shhhhh."

She tilted his face up slowly, lowering icy lips to his almost mockingly.

He almost let himself get lost in the kiss, twisting in the measured waves. Suddenly, the kiss turned fierce, cutting off all air as she dragged him under the water again.

No, please. He thought as his lungs began to scream for air. Her mouth was still on his, trapping him against her side.

He finally managed to pry himself away from her, only to realize he was hundreds of feet under the water. He let out a shriek with his remaining air, and then the water flowed in.

The last thing he saw was her sweet face, tilting up towards the stars he knew must be up there somewhere. She grinned, and everything flashed white before he knew no more.

* * *

One week later...

"And if you look over here, you'll see our exclusive golf course, brand new obviously." The manager said dully. "Only hotel members are allowed to use the facilities here, you being one of them. Mr. Wesson?"

A waving hand snapped Sam out of his daydream. God was this man boring.

"Sorry?" Sam asked, flashing a polite smile. "You were saying about the course?"

The man nodded at him, piloting the white golf cart expertly around the corner of the course. "Yes. Eighteen holes in all, brand new foliage and everything. Also, the view is marvelous, don't you agree?"

"Yes, it is." Sam said, leaning back as the manager's attention was drawn back to the road. Running a hand back through his hair, he wished he could just see his room already.

"Your suite will be coming up on the left." The manager said, drawing Sam's attention back to whatever the hell he'd been saying. "Would you like to see the restaurant first, Mr. Wesson?"

Panic flashed through him at the thought of any more time with the sweaty manager. "Actually, I'm a little tired from my trip. Would it be alright if I settled in my room for a day or two first?" He asked diplomatically, flashing the bald man another polite smile he didn't feel.

"Of course, of course sir." The man stumbled out. "I'll send the bellboy up with your luggage immediately. Do you require anything else for your stay?"

Sam shook his head, grateful when the wretched golf cart puttered to a stop. Stretching a little, he shielded his eye from the noon sun

What was that saying? Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun. Something like that.

It was hot here. In the bright sun, his skin looked pale and sickly, which he supposed anyone's would look like if they spent all their time inside.

The manager gave him his keys, promising another tour and perhaps dinner later? He shook his head at that question, blaming fatigue. The sooner he could get to his room and just relax, the sooner his nerves would calm down.

* * *

He had his own elevator, which didn't surprise him. The manager had spoken numerous times about the accommodations of the penthouse suite Sam was booked with. Except he kept referring to him as 'Mr. Wesson' which threw Sam off for a few seconds. That was his father's name, not his, but it didn't seem to matter to the manager (what was his name, Larry?). He was a VIP guest, even though he wanted to pretend differently. He'd always hated the way money changed things; he never would have agreed to this trip if he'd known his parents would do this to him. He'd have been much more comfortable back in California at school.

The elevator pinged pleasantly at his floor, echoing across the cool marble as the door opened. He was greeted with an amazing view of the hotel and ocean, surpassing even what Larry had told him.

A wave of salty air hit him, rustling his hair along with the many palm trees that surrounded the tall building. He was at least thirty floors up, high enough to see the coast and even some islands a couple miles away.

Flowers bloomed in trees and on bushes below, flashes of color in the strong sun. The ocean crashed reassuringly, making Sam close his eyes and take a deep breath like the last doctor had told him to do.

There was no feeling of happiness. The ocean hadn't brought him joy in months. Too many memories, he supposed. The ocean didn't even look comforting; all he could see were the white tops of the waves before they crashed down, making him flinch a little. The water looked dark, darker than it should have been at high noon. Turning away, he stepped into his rooms at the side of his balcony.

His bags were there, piled against the white wall next to the couch. He barely glanced at the rest of the rooms, knowing they were five stars and perfect in every way. How they had gotten that way made his stomach roll a little.

Dragging his bags to the bedroom, he collapsed on the bed, allowing himself to enjoy the large mattress. White blankets fluffed around him, and he rested his head against the coolness of them.

Take a vacation, his parents had said. Sam hated vacation. Hated the fake smiles and the greedy eyes. Hated the perfection of it all. Didn't anyone realize their paradise came at someone else's cost?

Rolling over, he checked his 'itinerary'. Of course his parents would schedule his vacation. "Not that we don't trust you, honey." His mother had said. "It's just, you e been so...reclusive...lately. We just want you to have some fun, maybe meet some new people."

New people? Very funny. Sam could spend his whole day in the insanely sized bed, but he knew his parents. Someone would come up and find him if he didn't appear on time.

Scowling at the paper, he realized his first event didn't occur until three. Perfect. That gave him a few hours to relax before he had to...what was it?

Soccer. That was the first event.

Groaning to himself, he cursed his parents. Soccer meant being outside, and he was pale enough to burn right away.

Rolling off the bed, he started his shuffle to bathroom, praying someone had packed him sunscreen.

A shower, two picked at plates of room service and an hour of soap operas later, he was no closer to going outside.

His map Larry had given him showed the soccer courts at the northern side of the huge complex. The hotel itself took up acres and acres of space, with pools, tennis courts, beaches, bars and more littered all over. The soccer game started in fifteen minutes, so Sam halfheartedly wrenched himself off the bed to get his sneakers on.

Another annoying elevator ride later, he was looking at he ocean straight on between the palm trees. It still looked almost menacing, blue waves giving him a chill regardless of the temperature. Turning to the right, he found a sign saying 'Soccer Fields' pointing north. Following the path, he absently rubbed at the sunscreen coating his shoulders. He still had decent muscle mass, even after losing a little weight. His mother had cried a little when she'd seen him, forcing food, food, and more food on him. Didn't she know he just wasn't hungry? He could barely bring himself to eat anymore, knowing he should but feeling Ill every time he looked at food.

He came across the fields after about five minutes of walking. The hotel was bigger than he'd thought-what had looked like a short walk ended up being a lot longer than it'd appeared.

The grass was a dark green, looking cool and reassuring as he walked towards it. The sun shone down, making it glisten. A small shed leaned against a wall off to the right, looking brand new and shiny. Equipment hung inside, everything from racquets to harnesses for something Sam couldn't recognize.

People were already hanging around, looking vaguely excited as they waited for whoever was running the event to show up. It was mostly adult men, some with their shirts already off like Sam.

A sharp whistle caught his attention, making him turn towards the sound. A figure in a tight red t shirt was standing in front of the sun, barely visible.

"People!" The man shouted. "Sorry I'm late! Put my underwear on backwards!"

Many of the people laughed at that.

"So, we ready for some soccer?" He asked the crowd, stepping underneath the shed to grab something. Sam caught his first glimpse of the man then. He was handsome, blonde hair and lightly tanned skin. Sunglasses covered his eyes, but his face looked handsome even from where Sam was standing. He was wearing a red t shirt and khaki shorts, taking the shirt off as he bent over.

A silver whistle hung from his neck, along with another necklace Sam couldn't see very well. Suddenly, a soccer ball was thrown out into the field, and some of the more impatient boys bounded after it.

"Alright, who's gonna be captain?" The man asked, stepping out into the sun. He looked fierce in the light, blonde hair and sunglasses flashing brightly.

"You, Dean!" Someone shouted off to the left.

"Me?" The man who must have been Dean asked incredulously. "Why would I be captain? Let's have some newbies play." He told her, blowing on the whistle to call everyone to order. "Besides, I played cap yesterday. It's tough work being in charge."

The crowd laughed at him again, drawn in by the charm that was practically oozing off of the man.

"Here's a newbie!" Someone shouted, pushing Sam to the front of the crowd gently.

"Fresh meat?" Dean asked, peering over his sunglasses. "Awesome. What's your name, kid?" He asked Sam disinterestedly, already turning away.

Well, fine then.

"Sam." He said, flexing a little. He might have looked pale, but he'd played soccer at Stanford, and he was pretty good.

A rational part of his brain pointed out that responding to a challenge (if it even was one) was childish, but he ignored it. If his parents wanted him to play soccer, he'd play soccer.

Dean was already out on the field, whistling away again. "Me and fresh meat are captains! Y'all cool with that?" He didn't give them a chance to reply, whistling sharply again.

"Line up!"

Sam moved opposite Dean, scowling into the bright sun. So, pretty boy was an asshole. Big surprise.

Dean turned in his direction, barely glancing at him as he gestured at Sam to pick first. Unsurprisingly, very few people looked like they wanted to be on his team. Picking halfheartedly, he and Dean switched off until the crowd was divided more or less evenly.

"Alright!" Dean yelled (and why was he always yelling?) "Starters on the field!"

Sam quickly sorted out the correct number of people, playing defense. His team looked a little small, and he suspected more than a few people had switched over to Dean's team when he wasn't looking.

"Go!" Dean yelled, taking his position as forward across the field. The ball was thrown forward, and everyone began to move.

Sam's team was actually pretty good, surprisingly. His forwards grabbed the ball quickly, maneuvering around the other team swiftly.

Suddenly, Dean was there, glasses still covering his eyes. Stretching a foot forward, the slightly shorter man kicked the ball out of the forward's reach, deftly controlling it and moving down the field.

Sam readied himself, calves stretching. Dean was almost there, ignoring Sam as he spun past the other defense.

Grinning, Sam plowed into the ball just as Dean was drawing his leg back to kick it into the goal. The ball was in his possession, and Dean barely had time to give him a shocked glance before Sam passed it to his midfielder, expertly measuring the distance.

"Damn." He heard Dean mutter, and grinned to himself. Damn was right.

They scored then, but a few minutes later Dean's team got a goal to match. The sun had gotten lower in the sky, but it was still deathly hot. Sam could feel the sweat pouring off him, dropping down to pool at the base of his back.

Dean looked sweaty too, but the determined look in his eyes never ceased. He tried to make a shot then, but Sam threw a leg out and deflected it, sending it all the way across the field in an impressive shot.

He even saw Dean's eyebrows raise a little.

The game went on, with both teams switching people in. By unspoken agreement, both Sam and Dean stayed in the whole time, breathing heavily but determined to win.

Sam had never met someone so close in stamina to him. Every goal he made, Dean matched seconds later. Neither side could advance much, so the game dragged on.

Eventually, it came down to a few people. Most of the other guests had left, either going back to the hotel or sitting on the sidelines to watch the two of them.

Den was right in front of him, trying some fancy footwork to get around Sam. Unperturbed, he spun with Dean, grabbing the ball from him only to lose it back to the man.

Gritting his teeth, he kicked out, sliding to reach the ball. Overshooting, the ball flew out of bounds, disappearing as Sam tumbled to the ground, cheeks red.

"Damn." Dean said again. He was right next to him, hands on his knees as he breathed heavily. "Let's never do this again, huh?" He asked, taking his sunglasses off to wipe the sweat from his nose. Reaching a hand out, he gestured at Sam.

"You want help getting up?" Dean asked, eyes looking sincere. They were an amazing green, sharp and warm at the same time. He found nothing but honesty and a little respect in them.

"Sure." He said when he got his breath back, reaching his hand forward. Dean grabbed for his hand. The second their hands touched, a shock went through Sam.

Afterwards, he would describe it as something locking into place; time seemed to slow down as they stared at each other, emotions swirling.

It was almost as if he could feel Dean; he saw everything from his eyes for a second, saw himself on the grass still, eyes wide. He could see Dean's eyes widening, low gasp barely making any noise.

He felt a warm, comforting feeling envelop him, something he hadn't felt since Jessica. He could feel Dean's happiness too, like the other man felt just like Sam did. Flashes of memory flitted across his mind, a blond woman, two yellow eyes, a dark figure disappearing. He realized with a gasp that these were Dean's memories. He felt Dean tense then, emotions carrying over to him through their interlocked hands.

He had a feeling when they took their hands away it would still feel like this, this connection. Golden, like Dean's hair, and he never wanted to let go of this man's hand, not when it felt like this-

All of that sensation cut off as Dean finally came to his senses, ripping his hand from Sam's and taking a few hurried steps backwards.

"Dean," Sam said after a second, reaching out.

"Get away from me." Dean growled savagely. His face looked pale, eyes still wide. The rest of the field didn't seem to see them, still focused on the lost ball.

"What?" Sam asked, shocked. "Didn't you..." He paused. "Didn't you feel it?" He was still on the ground, tingles running down his spine.

"Feel what?" Dean asked, body betraying him as he rubbed the hand he'd touched Sam with, shifting on his feet. "Get up. We have a game to play."

With that he jogged away, unsettled expression forced into indifference.

Hurt, Sam got up slowly. He could feel anger radiating from Dean, so powerful it scared him. Even scarier, Dean's dismissal had caused his own emotions to flare up, and he had to blink away tears like a scorned fifth grader at a school dance.

Maybe he'd just imagined it.

Sam decided he didn't want to play anymore. Grabbing his stuff, he walked off the field angrily.

He never saw the worried pair of green eyes that watched him go.

* * *

"I'm so glad you accepted my offer for dinner tonight, Mr. Wesson," Larry said, straightening his cuff links. "It's a pleasure."

Sam nodded briskly, smiling lightly. "Could you blame a guy? This sushi is extraordinary." He told Larry, joining the manager in laughter he didn't really feel.

"Anyways," Sam said after a second, taking a drink from his water goblet. "When was the hotel finished?"

Larry smiled proudly. "Six months ago. And we're already at full capacity with guests!" He gushed, drinking wine instead of water like Sam.

He was on step three of the day, or as his parent's schedule called it, dinner with someone new.

Sam was pretty sure the only person he knew was Larry, much to his disappointment. The sweaty manager was fine, sure, but if Sam didn't have to be here, he'd be in his room moping.

Which was apparently the last thing his parents wanted.

Smiling, he raised his glass towards Larry. "To a job well done."

Larry smiled back, raising his wine glass a little unsteadily. Sam noticed with a little private amusement that the other man was very tipsy, nearly drunk.

Whoops. Good thing Sam only drank water these days.

"Well, it was a pleasure." Sam said, watching Larry's eyelids droop. "I might retire now."

"Retire?" Larry mumbled. "Oh yes, marvelous. I have to get back to work."

Sam nodded seriously, two steps from laughter as he watched the older man blink and frown.

"Of course. Nice meeting you." He told the man, waving a smiling waitress over to bring the bill.

Larry stood up unsteadily, still frowning as he reached a hand out to clasp Sam's shoulder. Sam barely contained a snort as the man missed, smacking him soundly in the chest instead. The waitress bringing the bill let out a small giggle, handing Sam the bill as Larry finally found his shoulder.

"You're a good man, Mr. Wesson." Larry said.

"Thank you." Sam said, embarrassed. Some man he was to let the manager get drunk in one measly hour.

Larry waved good bye, walking slightly more steadily off to the exit of the restaurant. Sam smiled a little at the waitress, humor gone as he felt an unusual sense of foreboding.

This bond thing, whatever it was, had nearly disappeared over the last two days. It was almost as if Dean had blocked him off, cutting any emotions and thoughts away like weeds.

Sam had been crawling out of his skin the last few days, a mental itch plaguing him every hour. He hadn't seen Dean after that day on the fields; if it wasn't for the headaches and uncomfortableness the last few days, he could've almost dreamed it up.

Walking out of the restaurant, he clenched his hands as another strong sense of emotion passed over him, making spots flash across his eyes. He gasped, pressing a hand to his forehead as pain lanced through him, making the world turn white.

He was distantly aware of falling to the ground, grateful he'd managed to walk near the grass. The pain intensified, and suddenly Sam couldn't see anything but a white light in front of him.

Larry's face appeared, oddly enough. Whatever the migraine was, it focused quickly on the other man, almost like Sam was watching in real time.

Larry was walking back towards the main office, still slightly unsteady. He seemed to be taking the beach route, stumbling a little in the sand. Oddly enough, no one was on the beach. Sam figured distantly that it was noon, meaning most of the guests had to be taking refuge from the unrelenting sun. It didn't account for everyone, though, which unsettled Sam a little bit.

A low growling sound could be heard from the left, but Larry didn't take notice. Sam watched in amazement and terror as a large black dog tailed the man, breath making little puffs of steam in the air.

The dog (if that was even what it was) growled low again, and this time it was loud enough that Larry turned.

"Who's there?" Larry called out dazedly.

The dog pounced then, muscles coiling as it launched itself at the sweaty manager.

Sam was forced to watch as the dog tore Larry to shreds, ripping and pulling as blood splattered the sand, turning it a deep ruby color as Larry screamed piteously.

The dog had just finished when the scene changed, folding back to white spots in front of Sam's vision until he found himself back on the grass.

He just lay there for a few minutes, sheltered from the sun by a large tree. The headache dissipated a little, but didn't relent. He could feel it pounding away in his head, and when he placed a hand over his face, he found blood pooling around his nose.

Sam had no clue what had just knocked him on his ass. He could barely move, head aching.

A sudden thought came to him: what if it had been real?

Heart pounding, he struggled to get to his feet, nausea rolling in his stomach. Maybe it was a warning of some sort, a terrible daydream? All he knew was that he needed to make sure Larry was okay. Call it irrational...

He stumbled off almost drunkenly down to the beach, praying Larry hadn't gotten there yet.

The sand was hot on the beach, but Sam didn't notice as he walked hurriedly down the path. He could barely see anything in the bright sun; everything was white in the noon light.

"Larry!" He called out weakly, only half sure any of it was real.

"Larry!"

He finally found a familiar looking figure, only about a hundred yards away from him. Sam yelled out again, but Larry didn't hear him.

Sam nearly stopped walking as he saw the dog appear, black fur rippling in the bright sun. Larry still didn't move-it was playing out exactly like his vision.

"Who's there?" Larry asked, exactly as Sam saw. The dog growled, muscles coiling to pounce as Sam could do nothing but watch in horror.

Larry's screams echoed terribly, but Sam didn't dare get close. He was too late. Blood already coated the sand.

The dog had just turned towards him, blood coating his maw, when Sam heard the pounding of footsteps behind him.

"Down!" A familiar voice shouted, and Sam dropped instinctively. Oddly enough, he didn't doubt the voice at all. A sense of calm spread over him, only slightly jarred by the loud gunshot that echoed over his head a second later.

The dog squealed, blood dripping from its side. It curled into itself once before running off, fading into the bright sun like it hadn't even been there. Even the black blood that dropped from its side faded as it dried, leaving no trace behind.

Sam got up from the sand slowly, eyeing what was left of Larry as he turned hesitantly to whoever'd saved him.

Meeting a pair of sharp green eyes, he felt his knees tremble a little.

"Dean?!" He exclaimed, studying the other man in amazement. He was holding a sawed off shot gun, finger still on the trigger guard. A tight black t shirt covered his torso, offsetting a small gold pendant hanging around his throat. He wasn't wearing any hotel employee stuff at all.

He looked at Sam sharply, making him want to curl up and die a little bit.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean asked angrily.

Sam could only gape, staring at the gun, then back to Larry.

He tried to speak, but Dean interrupted, anger boiling over their bond.

"We need to get out of here." Dean reluctantly said after a second, staring at Sam oddly. Sam couldn't pin down the emotion in his eyes-hate? Confusion?

"What was that?" Sam shrieked in a hopefully manly way.

Dean frowned briefly, shifting on his feet. "There might be more. Please, let's just get outta here and we can talk."

Something in his voice made Sam calm down a little, and he nodded hesitantly, making Dean sigh in relief.

"Follow me." Dean said, and Sam did exactly that.

* * *

A/N Review?


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